Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  Demosthenes of Thebes woke early, fearing bitter retribution from his uncle for selling Gallic beer much too cheap. For a change, Callicles had risen with the sun, walking over on the bright morning to converse with his nephew.

  “My slave woman told me you sold all the Gallic beer to Julius Chrysippus last night,” said a frowning Callicles.

  “Yes uncle,” Demosthenes replied, looking to the ground, “He would only give me fifteen denarii per amphora.”

  “That’s all you could get?”

  “Yes uncle, I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for?” Callicles asked, arms folded across his chest.

  “That I couldn’t get eighteen denarii, as his father said you paid twelve denarii for it.”

  With that remark, the trader could hold in his pleasure no longer and broke out laughing.

  “I’m sorry uncle.”

  “For what, you got fifteen denarii for the beer, that’s great!” Callicles exclaimed, slapping him hard on the back.

  “Why?” asked Demosthenes, wincing from the slap.

  “Because I actually paid only eight denarii for each amphora, I would’ve settled for thirteen.”

  “You didn’t tell them the truth?”

  “Why should I?”

  “It’s said one should always tell the truth.”

  “Perhaps in most cases, but the truth my dear nephew has nothing to do with the profession of vending. Don’t you remember what caveat emptor means?” asked a chuckling Callicles, walking off to find breakfast and more beer. The lad watched him call for a slave, smiled, and found he completely agreed with his uncle’s statement.

  Joseph’s wagon was parked next to the forge during the morning. Ganymede and Brutus carried the blacksmith tools to the forge, while Icarus inspected the broken shackle. “This is a problem, perhaps I can repair it,” he remarked.

  “Repair it?” asked Ganymede.

  “I’ll have to, shackles are made of Damascus steel and I don’t have suitable stock available to make another one.”

  “How will you do it?” asked Ganymede.

  “I’ll try to repair it by hammer welding the break, if that doesn’t work, we’ll have to replace the leather strap with a shorter one; then I’ll reshape the broken end of the shackle.”

  “Oh,” said Ganymede, not really understanding what Icarus was talking about.

  “Can you pull the shackle for me later?” asked Icarus, Ganymede unloading a box of plow fittings.

  “Sure, but we have to finish unloading the wagon first.”

  “No problem, I have to finish a set of horseshoes before I can do anything else,” Icarus replied, turning to his forge.

  In the evening, after Icarus skillfully repaired the wagon by hammer welding the broken shackle, Jesus, Joseph and Brutus pulled up at the caravansary to complete the purchase of the beer, Callicles walking up to greet them as they arrived.

  “My friends! How are you this fine evening?” Callicles asked, holding a cup of Gallic beer.

  “Never been better,” said a smiling Joseph, “You were right about the beer – I didn’t have a hint of a hangover.”

  “How about Brutus here, how does he feel?” asked the trader, looking to the slave.

  “He was up with the sun, no worse for wear,” Joseph replied, walking into the bazaar.

  “I told you it was good,” said Callicles.

  “Indeed it was,” replied Jesus.

  “And the younger Julius?” Thanks to my beer, were you up with the sun?”

  “Never,” said Jesus.

  “Good beer or not, he likes to sleep late,” said Joseph.

  “What the hell, so do I,” Callicles replied.

  “Not as late as he does,” retorted Joseph, Jesus looking to his father with a frown.

  “Demo said you bought our Gallic beer,” said Callicles, looking to Jesus.

  “Yes, my father suggested that I purchase it.”

  “I know that he sold you the entire stock, but would you mind if I kept back ten or so amphorae for myself?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good,” Callicles replied with a relieved sigh, “That means we have 44 available for sale, at fifteen denarii a piece, so that comes to, uh, let’s see, that would be – ”

  “660 denarii.”

  “He’s faster than an abacus,” said Callicles, nudging Joseph in the side with an elbow.

  “He was good at his studies,” Joseph replied, looking to his son while they walked along.

  “I thought your nephew said fifty were available,” said Jesus.

  “We started with 72, Kago, Aeschesles and I have been drinking it on and off since leaving Chrysopolis last month,” Callicles answered, arriving at the beer wagons. “We won’t need your wagon for hauling, we’ll just take these and hitch them to a team of oxen.”

  “It is a lot of beer isn’t it,” said Joseph, looking to the loaded wagons, nearly stacked to the ceilings with brew.

  “You wanted to buy it father.”

  “Yes, but it’ll fill the cellar.”

  “And then some,” said Brutus.

  “You don’t have to buy any if you don’t want to,” said Callicles.

  “I want it,” Joseph replied.

  “Then it’s done,” said Jesus, “Say Callicles, would you go an even six hundred for the beer?”

  “Yeah, just cut me slack on your meat and skins.”

  “Sure,” Jesus replied.

  Calling over a trusted slave and Kago, the head mercenary, Callicles said, “I need you to watch the bazaar this evening, close up early if business drops off.”

  “Shall do boss,” Kago answered, a muscular native Anatolian of six feet in height, wearing bronze and leather body armor, together with a long Scythian broadsword in a sheath.

  An hour later, two gigantic wagons pulled by eight oxen pulled up in front of the Chrysippus farmhouse behind Joseph’s wagon. The Magdalene and Cyril were sitting on the porch engaged in conversation, while Mary and Ruth were in the kitchen preparing to feed Julian his evening porridge. Six slaves were sitting on top of the wagons, a bemused Magdalene looking up and asking, “What did you do Julius, buy more slaves?”

  “No Maria, they’re my slaves for unloading these wagons,” answered Callicles, Jesus and the trader walking to the porch.

  “So what’s in the wagons?” asked Mary, having been present when Jesus purchased the beer, but not realizing the immense quantity acquired in the deal.

  “The beer I bought last night,” said Jesus.

  “What else?”

  “Nothing, just the beer.”

  “There’s beer in both wagons?”

  “Nothing but,” Jesus replied while his father smiled.

  “It figures,” said Mary, Cyril smiling.

  Callicles’ slaves unloaded 44 amphorae from the wagons. Most went to the cellar, an additional twelve stacked in the common area of the house while Joseph’s wife forlornly observed their living room turned into a beer warehouse. “Don’t worry woman, we’ll find another place for it,” said Joseph.

  “Did you have to buy so much?” Mary asked, heading to the bedroom with the baby and Ruth.

  “It’s really good beer,” Joseph replied.

  “It must be if you bought that much,” said Mary, closing the door.

  “She’s pissed at you isn’t she?” Callicles asked, standing in the kitchen.

  “It passes quickly,” said Joseph while Jesus took out a moneybag.

  “Wives, you can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em,” Callicles observed, “My woman Helena in Thrace, it’s a good thing I only see her maybe twice a year, that way our love for each other takes precedent above all else.”

  “I know what you mean there,” Jose
ph answered, leaning against the doorjamb.

  “Here’s 24 aurei, covering the beer,” said Jesus, sitting coins on the table.

  “That’s what I like about you Julius, you always pay in gold,” replied Callicles, sliding the coins across the table and pocketing them.

  “You pay me in gold, why shouldn’t I return the favor?”

  “Would you care for a drink?” asked Joseph.

  “Wine or beer?” asked Callicles.

  “Either.”

  “Well then, let’s start cleaning out your living room, it’ll keep the wife off your ass,” said a chuckling Callicles, sitting down heavily in a chair. During the next hours, the trader got drunk, afterward purchasing heavy sacks of wheat and barley, fine sides of cured meat, stacks of oak tanned skins, and a large quantity of finished leather goods made by slave women Electra and Penelope. Spending 106 aurei, while his slaves loaded the merchandise in the wagons, he exclaimed, “Hell Julius, I come to this town to make money from you, and you end up making money from me!”

  “I sold it to you for a very good price,” said Jesus, feigning indignance.

  “Of course friend, I’ll easily double my money on this top quality stock,” Callicles replied, offering his hand.

  “Excellent,” said Jesus, firmly shaking his hand.

  Near two, Callicles and nephew, with their six slaves, made their way from the Chrysippus farm to the caravansary. As they drove off, a smiling Jesus remarked, “Here’s the money,” dropping a pouch of gold coins in his father’s hand.

  “A hundred and six huh?” asked Joseph, staring at the coins within.

  “That’s right.”

  “Damn, that’s nearly three times more than he made from us.”

  “We haven’t bought the extra windows from him yet my father.”

  “Yeah,” Joseph replied, still looking at the pouch of coins.

  The Magdalene strolled into the kitchen, looked to Jesus and asked, “Well?”

  “We made 106 aurei from Callicles tonight,” said Jesus.

  “Who cares, we make that much looting corpses every few months, let’s find someone to eat.”

  “It’s about time son, it must be near three.”

  “Thanks Joseph,” said Mary, looking to Jesus, “He was so busy making money off that drunk he forgot he’s a vampire.”

  “We have time, I was simply enjoying the evening,” Jesus replied, rising from his chair.

  “There’s not much of an evening left, so let’s go,” Mary retorted, walking to the door.

  “Please remember to pick up the windows tomorrow father, I’ll see you in the evening,” said Jesus, walking through the threshold.

  “Right,” Joseph replied as Jesus closed the door.

  “All the thieves must be asleep, I imagine we’ll have to take boars or something tonight,” said Mary, heading down the road leading from the farm.

  “We do need more meat for the smokehouse,” Jesus observed, she frowning at the statement. Finding porcine fare within fifteen minutes, Jesus gutted the leftover carcasses, carrying and dropping them at the door of the smokehouse shortly after four. A sated Mary following, they made their way to their dark room and settled into slumber.

  Joseph, controlling his urge to get completely plastered the previous evening, rose early to head to the caravansary for the windows. Brutus was at his side in the wagon, pulling up to the bazaar shortly after ten, Demosthenes greeting them.

  “What brings you here today sir?” he asked.

  “Windows, we forgot them yesterday,” said Joseph.

  “We have two types available, sliding and hinged ones, which do you prefer?”

  “The hinged ones.”

  “Perfect Gavinal bought most of the sliding ones anyway,” said Demosthenes while the group headed to the wagons.

  “Where’s Callicles?” asked Joseph.

  “Still sleeping, he got loaded with Kago and Aeschesles last night.”

  “Imagine that,” Joseph replied.

  Arriving at the wagons, Joseph purchased eight windows for 28 denarii a piece.

  “I wonder how they make these things?” Joseph mused as Brutus and two other slaves moved a laden cart to his wagon.

  “Windows?” asked Demosthenes, looking to him.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s said that master glassblowers take a lump of red hot glass on the end of an iron rod, and rotate it fast in some sort of fixture so it flattens out into thin sheets,” said Demosthenes, having learned of the method from his uncle.

  “Really?”

  “Then they cut the finished sheets using an emery stone and artisans set the panes into sashes.”

  “They use emery to cut it?”

  “It’s said that emery cuts glass as easily as one cuts cloth with shears.”

  “Incredible,” said Joseph, arriving at the wagon.

  “The procedure’s been in general use for the past forty years or so according to Lucien the trader at the Chrysopolis warehouse, probably invented about 100 years ago. Before that, artisans would pour molten glass into a mold, but the panes were much smaller and thicker in those days.”

  “You know a lot about glass,” Joseph replied, handing him 224 denarii from a leather pouch while the slaves stacked the windows into the wagon between mats of woven straw.

  “We have to know about all items we stock Julius the elder, after all, people ask questions, and it isn’t proper for a vendor not to know the answers,” said Demosthenes, pocketing the coins and holding out his hand.

  Shaking his hand, Joseph nodded to the lad, he and Brutus climbing aboard the wagon.

  “Is my uncle coming over to visit again before we leave?” asked Demosthenes.

  “I hope so, we have to get rid of some that beer don’t we?” a smiling Joseph asked, taking to the reins and pulling out. Heading to the farm at a leisurely pace, he remarked, “It’s a good thing Callicles wasn’t up this morning.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because we’d probably sit around all day and get drunk with him, and we have more harvesting to do,” said Joseph while they rode along, Brutus smiling at the remark.

  Pulling into the farm, Brutus asked, “Why did you buy so many windows Julius the elder?”

  “I want to put an addition on the house to be used as a sleeping quarters for Ruth, and I also think windows in the slave quarters would be a nice idea, don’t you?” Joseph answered, coming to a stop in front of the house.

  “Yes, thank you Julius the elder.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Joseph with a wave of a hand, stepping from the wagon, the slave taking the reins. “Find a safe place for the windows and run the rig to the stable,” he added, walking to the house.

  “Right,” Brutus replied, motioning the horses forward.

  Stepping into the kitchen, Joseph was greeted by Ruth, asking, “Have you eaten master Julius?”

  “No, and please call me Julius!” Joseph exclaimed, sitting down at the table.

  “I’m sorry, what would you like to have from me today, Julius the elder?”

  You don’t want to know, thought Joseph, ogling the attractive, petite teenaged Jewess, for a moment imagining her standing nude in his kitchen. “Anything will do, you’re an excellent cook,” Joseph answered, dismissing the lascivious thoughts.

  “We have boiled eggs, fresh bread I made this morning, honey porridge and cheese,” Ruth answered, Joseph still coveting her shapely body and pretty face, much to his chagrin.

  “I’m starved, give me some of each,” said Joseph, leaning back on a chair and closing his eyes, thinking of his beloved wife. The meal was served quickly, the slave placing his late breakfast on the table.

  “Would you like water too?” asked Ruth, Joseph wolfing down the food.

  “Hell no, bring m
e beer, this is delicious,” Joseph answered, his mouth full, starting on peeled, salted hard-boiled eggs after virtually inhaling the porridge.

  Ruth returned with a cup of Gallic beer for the patriarch of the Chrysippus clan.

  “Thanks kid,” Joseph replied.

  “Is there anything else you may require of me Julius the elder?” asked Ruth, she having perceived his ogling of her while moving about the kitchen.

  “Tend to my wife’s needs,” Joseph ordered, noting his teenage slave was being a tease to a much older man, who wasn’t interested and knew that she was only playing a game.

  “Yes master Julius,” said Ruth, leaving the kitchen and walking to the bedroom, seductively shaking her hips as she went.

  I’ll have to have to put her in her place if this keeps up, thought Joseph, finishing his eggs and grabbing a slice of cheese. For all of his bitter cynicism and atheism, Joseph was a one-woman man who dearly loved his Mary of Bethlehem, a love for his mate that had lasted and still burned brightly for 35 long years. Callicles was right about that little tease, with her moves she’d make the perfect whore, he thought, finishing his cheese and beer.

  Walking from the house, he mounted a horse, heading out to find his trusted overseer, Brutus of Rome. Finding him and the other slaves working in the north field, harvesting the last of the wheat with sickles, a surprised Joseph remarked, “So Brutus, I see you and the others have almost finished the fields.”

  “Yes, there’s only one left, we must get the grain harvested before the freeze sets in.”

  “It’s early, the freeze is weeks away, what’s the rush?”

  “We’ve several days of threshing to do, besides, Icarus and Ganymede have to work the forge all next week filling the centurion’s latest order, and the women have to deal with the hides Julius the younger has taken.”

  “You’re right, thank you my slaves,” said Joseph as Cyril looked to him. “What are you doing out here Cyril?”

  “Getting exercise,” a sweating Cyril replied.

  “Shouldn’t you be studying scrolls?”

  “I do in the evening, ofttimes with your son and Maria.”

  “Of course,” Joseph replied, recalling that Cyril liked the concept of physical labor for health reasons, afterward spending many of his evenings talking with friends Jesus and Mary, discussing philosophy, the arts and science.

  “Very well, carry on,” said Joseph, mounting his horse and riding to the house.